


Secret injury

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Book 4: Pawn in Frankincense, Broken Bones, Car Accidents, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Injury, Prompt Fill, Sabotage, Threats, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-27 00:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Jerrot is hoping to get word out about Gabriel's ashram in Nevada. The mountain roads are treacherous though...--Written for Whumptober 2019, set in the Band AU I've been writing (see collections).--There's 31 of these ficlets and I apologise profusely for burying other work in the tags. I will *always* tag these as 'the band au' and you can usethis nifty extension (ao3rdr)to block the tag if this isn't your thing and isn't what you want to see in the Lymond tags!
Kudos: 3
Collections: Ficlets in the Lymond Band AU for Whumptober 2019





	Secret injury

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr, October 24 2019.](https://notasapleasure.tumblr.com/post/188558717089/the-first-thing-he-knew-of-the-landslide-was-a)

The first thing he knew of the landslide was a darkening at the edge of his vision. He might have mistaken it for the return of delirium if not for the previous night’s bottle of vodka. Instead, Jerott leaned forwards to peer out of the windscreen and saw the side of the escarpment move.

Conifers leaned drunkenly as, gathering speed at a disorienting pace, a series of boulders broke free of the mud. They made their way towards the mountain road, joined by more as they clattered and cracked against the underlying surface of jagged grey stone and split new missiles off the bank. The track in front of him was narrow and coated in muddy gravel; to his left it dissolved into a verge of sharp stones and scrubby little trees before dropping away steeply.

His attention divided between the road and the rocks, Jerott swore vividly and shifted the gears down, flooring the accelerator and turning the wheel away from the approaching destruction. Going back wasn’t an option: he had to get out of the grounds of the ashram and warn someone what Gabriel had been doing.

The old sedan whirred, its engine exclaiming in protest, and Jerott’s strong arms battled to match the sluggish steering. His efforts were partially rewarded, and the car nosed ponderously away to the left, but it dragged in the thick mud and was not fast enough.

The long, low tail of the trunk took the first impact - it sounded like it had the force of a meteorite. The chassis bucked and Jerott’s teeth snapped together. Across the surfaces of the road and the hood of the car a sharp rain fell, denting thin American steel and gouging up little eruptions of mud and rainwater from the ground.

It only took a few blows from fist-sized chunks of stone before something critical was damaged: a plume of objecting steam was flushed from beneath the hood of the car. Jerott saw the road continuing straight ahead without him, a mirage viewed through clouds of engine steam and grit, and he thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his palm. The car wheezed, drained of speed, but the landslide did not hesitate.

A sound like a collapsing building overtook vehicle and driver. The impact of one of the larger boulders sent the back of the sedan spinning out across wet gravel and Jerott’s body swayed, his head rebounding off the hard rim of the steering wheel, his right hand thrown out so that the back of his wrist met the door frame. He had done enough to get ahead of the worst of the fall and he was not buried, but he had no opportunity to appreciate it.

The rocks continued to tumble across the road behind, but those that had knocked the car off course had also pushed the sedan to the edge of the track. It came to rest facing the bluff, its back tyres sunk into the clear air beyond the road surface, the driver’s slumped body in the front seat. Gravity toyed with the idea of pulling the car and its occupant down the scree-covered bank and into the gorge below, but while all was still the decision was deferred.

From the source of the destruction a figure clad in rose pink linen picked his way down the crumbled escarpment. His golden hair shone even under the grey sky, its straight-cropped edges tousled by the wind. Only the Nevada landscape saw the perfect calm of his expression, his periwinkle blue eyes cradled by lines of near-mirth, his wide mouth stroked by the merest idea of a smile. He clapped the wet dirt from his hands and paused at the roadside to glance up at the bank; whatever he did not see there satisfied him.

Graham Reid Mallett sauntered to the wrecked sedan and peered at the moment of balance that held it poised between earth and sky. He laid one large hand on the hood, the radiator hot beneath his skin, and he tested the stability of the car.

A wobble, a creak, but no backwards movement. Inside, Jerott’s dark head lolled back against the seat and he scowled at the pain of renewed consciousness.

Gabriel moved to the off-side door and stood by the precipice. He leaned into the open window with a familiar grin on his lips. “My dear.”

The sonorous voice roused Jerott, who squinted through the blood on his brow and cheek. The pain in his wrist sprung itself upon him a moment later, and he cried out and cradled his right arm, watched lovingly by the man he had followed as a prophet for all the years of his twenties.

It took Jerott time to recall what had happened; how he had been injured; why the car felt strangely weightless; but he could not match Gabriel to the scene.

“I’m afraid it just won’t do,” Gabriel told him, shifting a hand to cover and depress the door lock. “You’ll have to go over.”

Jerott could not speak. He scrabbled for the seat-belt release as Gabriel tightened his grip on the inside of the door-frame and pushed his shoulder against the car’s weight.

The car rocked, once, but another kaftan-wearing helper had arrived. The man De Guimeran, who Jerott recalled from his time in the ashram previously, hurried across the rubble, waving. “Hold on, hold on Gabriel! I’ll get him out if you can just hold on!”

Jerott caught the thunderous expression that Gabriel wore, his teeth bared behind the shelter of his arm and the body of the car.

“I…don’t know if I can…” he struck a tone of woe. The, quietly, he added: “Don’t say a thing. I can do what I want with the others, and, believe me, I _will_ if you try to blacken my name here.”

De Guimeran was there momentarily, reaching into the car across the passenger seat with foolhardy abandon. He clicked the belt release and nodded at Gabriel. “Pull him out! You can pull him out now!”

With languid fury in his movements, Gabriel opened the car door and grabbed Jerott by his broken wrist. Jerott fell from the car, his breath a whine of shock cloaked by a gasp. By the time the car had slipped over the road’s edge and the three of them were clear of it, the pain had sucked Jerott into unconsciousness.


End file.
